


Lies We Tell

by coverofnight



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13966995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coverofnight/pseuds/coverofnight
Summary: You hear her say she'll be back late and somewhere in your mind that translates into having enough time to get the dirty work done...and then some.





	Lies We Tell

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing is still quite new to me, so I wanted to explore them a little with this fic. Hope it's enjoyable. :)

You hear her say she'll be back late and somewhere in your mind that translates into having enough time to get the dirty work done...and then some. As with all things Annalise, the nitty gritty of life on the right side of the law falls on your shoulders. So, when the kids throw in their towels and half-baked ideas for the night, you set your clean-up routine in motion.

Chinese take-out in the trash. Boxes of files organized and in their places for the next morning. Annalise’s empty vodka glass in the kitchen sink.

You take the glass in hand, thumbing over the luscious red lip print at its rim. You can hardly stand to wash it off. Instead, you press your own lips against the red splash of color and feel a quiver course through your body and settle in your belly.

 _Enough of that_ , you say to yourself because you still have the kitchen and the bedroom to clean up. If only she would hire a maid, you could go home like the rest of the crew. But deep down, you like it. You like that Annalise trusts you enough to handle the inner workings of her life with care. She knows you, loves you even. Best of all, she puts all her faith in you to never take a misstep. Even when you do, she's always right there to catch you.

Upstairs, you mind the bathroom and the bedroom, making certain everything is as she likes it. Then, the bed calls your attention. Earlier, Laurel had lain her head upon these pillows to ease the throbbing ache of a migraine. And you...when you’d guided Laurel here, you had ideas of later easing a throbbing ache of your own.

It had started just minutes before, downstairs amongst the kids, when Annalise raised a brow in your direction and the hint of a smirk pressed gently against her lips. She sought your gaze, waited for you to meet it, and gave you a look so few in the room could discern. No rhyme or reason for it. Just a look, as if to say: _I choose you._ Perhaps Annalise simply wanted a sympathetic eye and ear amidst the noise of the murder mystery unfolding in her home. And, as always, you met her halfway with doe eyes and a slight grin.

Underneath it all, though, you clenched your thighs. Your stomach turned. Your clit throbbed.

Now, as you stare at the pillow Laurel messed with her heavy-headed migraine sleep, you feel that throb all over again. Why did Annalise always leave the moment the kids closed that front door? You consider whether she isn't afraid to be alone with you, whether Nate is enough of a distraction to keep her mind off her clearly burgeoning feelings for you.

The mere thought of your Annalise harboring anything more than maternal instinct sends your mind and heart racing. You trail your fingers along the edge of the bed until they come to a halt at the pillow Annalise likes best. You've seen her rest her head here countless times, just as you've seen her shed oceans of tears over life’s losses and heartaches. All those tears, all those sleeps, all those bits of Annalise are right here.

_All you have to do is seize them._

And you do. You clutch the pillow close to you, taking in its faint smell of perfume. _Annalise’s._ You want it to be part of you, the way Annalise’s heart is part of yours...and so, you slink your way onto the bed, curling yourself around the pillow. You wrap your legs around it and, unexpectedly, you a feel a jolt to your loins. It's Annalise. It's this pillow, her scent, her memory, that smirk she gave you this afternoon.

Each flicker of Annalise in your mind's eye electrifies you and you buck your hips against the pillow, feeling her fill you up. _If only she were here_ , you think to yourself. In truth, you'd be mortified if she turned up and saw you like this.

No matter. You keep going and going and going until you're stripped down to just your panties and straddling the pillow with all the strength you have left.

By now, you're moaning as Annalise’s pillow and your own fingers fill the void between your legs. It feels so good that you don't even hear Annalise walk into the room.

She stands there, mouth agape, as you work yourself. With one hand you cup your own breast and with the other you tend to the persistent throb between your legs. All the while, you gasp for breath and in a moment just before climax, so does Annalise.

“Bonnie,” she says quietly.

Your first instinct is to stop what you're doing, to jump up, scramble to cover yourself, and apologize.

“Annalise…” It's all you can manage because as she stands there, all still and unflinching, you know that she probably finds you revolting _._ “I'm so sorry.” Your voice quivers as you say this and you're terrified to meet her steady, judging gaze. “I'm so, so sorry, Annalise. I was cleaning up and I touched your pillow and it smelled like you and you weren't here and I just…”

Your voice trails off because you realize you're rambling and crying and carrying on like a child. _Annalise detests this side of you._

You expect her to yell, to throw things. Instead, there’s silence. In the absence of protests, your mind races a mile a minute.

 _She's processing_ , you think. But it never takes Annalise this long to process anything. When you finally do lift your head to look at her, you're surprised to see she's dropped her purse and coat to the floor. All she wears now is a sleeveless red dress and a look of bewilderment you've never seen on her before.

Her eyes betray a strange sense of grief, as if she's lost something precious in the sight of you here on this bed, writhing in pleasure. Ashamed, you begin to extract yourself from the situation. But as you make a move to dress yourself, you suddenly feel warm, trembling hands touch your tear-stained cheeks.

“Bonnie,” she offers in a whisper, and when you look at her, there's a longing in her eyes that was once reserved for Sam. She presses her body against yours, kisses your cheek, and guides you back to the bed. “Come on, show me what you were doing.”

With her hand in yours, you resume your kneeling position on the bed. Soon, her hands encircle your torso and then she climbs onto the bed, embracing you from behind and pressing her knees against your thighs. You freeze at her touch because it's not the first time she's dared to cross a line with you. All you can do is wait for the other shoe to drop.

That moment never comes.

Instead, she presses her lips onto your shoulder, then your neck, and then your ear. “I got you,” she reassures you. “Go on. Show me what that was all about.”

And you're long gone by then. So much so, that when she offers her hand for your physical pleasure, you don't even think twice about slipping it between your legs. Your panties are soaked through and she groans into your ear at the first touch.

“And here I thought you had it bad for Sam,” she says with a soft chuckle.

You turn your head toward her, burying your nose in her hair. “It was never about Sam. All of this was always for you.”


End file.
